I bexame aware of Moshfegh by way of her short stories, first in "The Paris Review" and then in "The New Yorker". When she was in an issue of either, she blew whatever else was in its pages out of the water. I bought "McGlue" and her novel "Eileen" and, when I finally got a free second, started reading the former. It's a strange book that takes a few pages to accustom the reader to the jumpy, deliriously drunken prose. Once you get the hang of it you'll be soaring, feeling like you're reading what Beckett would have written after a Melville and whiskey bender. If you tend to like a more subtle, engaging type of fiction than what I've just described, check out her short fiction or (from the reviews I've read) "Eileen". She writes some brilliant, seemingly mild-mannered stories that end up featuring some weird and often scary characters engaging in questionable behavior. If you want to be sad and disgusted and elated and sometimes confused, read this one.